Not My Garter In The Vintage Safe

HE HID THE MISTRESS. HE HID THE MONEY. HE FORGOT WHO SIGNED THE DEED.

Margaret Palm isn't a wife. She's staff. Just ask her husband.

Jeremy is the bespoke-tailored, tour-filming face of The Carriage House, the most exclusive wedding venue in the city. Marg is the woman in the back office who runs the sheets, pays the vendors, and quietly keeps a hundred and forty years of historic stone from falling on the guests. He performs. She reconciles. It works, right up until she opens the estate's antique safe looking for a missing permit and a hand-stitched bridal garter tips out into her hand, embroidered with another woman's Instagram handle.

Jeremy swears it's a prop. A promotional sample. From a design studio. That personalizes free samples with a mistress's @.

Marg doesn't scream. Marg doesn't cry. Marg pulls the security logs.

Because here's what the great Jeremy Palm never bothered to learn about his very boring wife: she reads the fine print. All of it. Including the insurance policy, the land deed, and the manual for the smart-building system he wired to obey his voice, the one that has been quietly recording everything said in the VIP suite after midnight for four months.

Now there's a $150,000 society wedding on Saturday. The mayor's daughter. A live broadcast. Six hundred of the most important people in the city. And an eight-hundred-thousand-follower influencer in the front row, already captioning her plans to "evict the coordinator."

They are all about to learn what a wedding coordinator can do with a run-sheet, twelve unscheduled minutes, and a building that stands, legally, on her signature alone.

A complete, laugh-out-loud revenge novella with a wife you'll cheer for, a husband who has it coming, and the most satisfying wedding toast never broadcast. No cheating heroine, no cliffhanger, closed door. Every book in the Oh No He Didn't series stands completely on its own.